


Broken glass

by Paradise_Seeker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Human Castiel, POV Second Person, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:11:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3782734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_Seeker/pseuds/Paradise_Seeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You thought this new life would give you a purpose, that being human is penance for your past crimes. In this simple life, you can repair what you've broken. You have purpose. You give people what they need and they thank you and pay you for it. You don't break things. You don't kill things. Yet, despite everything, despite all your good intentions, your touch still destroys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken glass

Glass sprawls in a mess on the floor. Broken shards scattered everywhere around the room, slipping in every little corner of the storage room. Sharp, transparent and deadly, if you handle it the wrong way.

Your hands tremble, you realise dimly, as you watch those lumps of flesh, of sinews and bones – not even your own, not really – spasming with light tremors. Maybe this is why the glass escaped from your fingers, you think. Maybe the reason of the accidental dropping is just exhaustion. Because you are not used to a body that necessitate rest, you are not used to the average human rhythm of sixteen hours of wakefulness and eight hours of sleep. You push your body until you drop dead, because it's the only way you have ever known, even when you were not-an-angel-anymore but not-quite-human either.

But maybe the trembling is just a result of nerves. Because you are nervous. This is the first time you break glass, you realise. Not the first time you break something, no. You broke words of God and bones and minds. But this is the first time you break something when you're human, the first time you break something in your new life. You thought this new life would give you a purpose, that being human is penance for your past crimes. In this simple life, you can repair what you've broken. You have purpose. You give people what they need and they thank you and pay you for it. You don't break things. You don't kill things. Yet, despite everything, despite all your good intentions, your touch still destroys.

By playing God, you killed thousands of your brothers and humans, you released the Leviathans. By trying to stay in Purgatory, you became the puppet of Heaven and nearly killed Dean. By blindly trusting Metatron, you condemned all angels to fall, their wings burned and broken, you closed the gates of your home.

Everytime you try to do good, you fail. And this broken glass, these sad little shards are just a reminder of how useless you are, how destructive.

You don't even realise that, foolishly, your hands try to grasp the tiny shards. To rebuild and mend the broken glass. You cut yourself with it and red soon stains the translucent material. You don't feel the pain, you only see those tiny pieces that you have to _fix fix fix_. It is vital. It is fundamental. If you can fix this little thing, it means that then, you can fix bigger things. It means you can fix your mistakes and mend you relationship with the Winchesters and regain their trust and repair your brothers' wings, repair your _home_.

You don't hear Nora's cry. You only realise she's here when she holds your hands – yours-but-not-really – and carefully pries the glass away from your fingers. She asks what you were doing and she watches you with fear and concern in her eyes. She calls out your name – not yours, a lie, just another lie – and you assure her that you are fine. She wants to clean and bandage your wounds, despite your reassurances and you let her, because it's easier to obey than to fight her. You don't want to fight anymore.

Nora cleans your mess while you sit there, hands swaddled in bandages. Like this, they're even clumsier than before.

You watch as she cleans the broken glass, these tiny broken little pieces bunched up together in the dustpan. You watch as she carefully wraps them in old newspapers, make sure not one piece is out of it and puts them in the dustbin.

Once she's gone, your shoulders slump, defeated.

You couldn't even repair one simple piece of glass. How can you repair anything else?

**Author's Note:**

> I can't remember if I read a similar fic before and if I inadvertently copied someone else, I'm sorry.
> 
> English is not my mother tongue, feel free to point out any mistake you see.


End file.
